


No Below

by Windybird



Series: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: 3 minds in one head and Johnny’s ego takes 90 percent of all space, Bisexual Female Character, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Burn, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windybird/pseuds/Windybird
Summary: “Chica,” Jackie says, lifting himself off Johnny and inching closer to V. The sight of his well-loved, broad-jawed face makes her heart wrench like someone’s shoved a metal fist inside her chest and squeezed, tight to the point of bursting. “Tell me what’s going on.”“Before he tries to assault me again, preferably,” Johnny adds from his spot on the floor, scowling at Jackie’s turned back.˚ ˚ ˚ ˚Jackie's psyche gets embedded into the Relic alongside Johnny's after his death. V is left to deal with the aftermath.
Relationships: Female V/Jackie Welles, Jackie Welles/Johnny Silverhand, Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V, Mama Welles & V, V/Jackie Welles, V/Jackie Welles/Johnny Silverhand
Series: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168328
Comments: 72
Kudos: 267





	1. reconstruct the air and all that brings

She drinks herself sick, after the ceremony.

She feels her hands start to shake around shot four, but Pepe doesn’t stop pouring, and when she gets up, she can feel her breath coming out in short pants, feel beads of sweat running down her forehead. Her hands are shaking really badly now. She doesn’t want to make a nuisance of herself, not here, not now, not in front of Mama Welles, and so she staggers outside into the blinding sunlight, feeling her chest and her throat get tighter and tighter.

She isn’t enough of an asshole to call Jackie’s bike, drive home drunk as all hell and get a mini-van full of kids with no trauma team into a ditch, and so she heads to the nearest NCART station. One good thing about being very obviously sloshed at four in the afternoon is that nobody’s willing to make eye contact with her, and so she’s left relatively unmolested on the ride back. She expected the tears she’d been suppressing for Mama Welles benefit to come bursting forth the moment her apartment door closes behind her, but they don’t come, and that’s worse. Because they’re locked somewhere behind unnaturally gray eyes, buried down somewhere so deep that if they did manage to squeeze their way past glands that feel drier than the Sahara desert, they’d come out as blood.

Doesn’t stop her from dry sobbing, though.

The funniest shit about this whole thing is that Jackie would’ve known exactly how to cheer her up. He would’ve insisted they go to El Coyote, go get some of Mama Welles’ special chiloquiles, just for her. Or maybe they’d sneak into the Grand Imperial Mall like they did that one time for her birthday and get high as kites, singing badly along with the radio and feasting on whatever stale-but-not-expired shit they can find on the shelves. They wouldn’t be here, heaving into V’s toilet because there is something that is avidly and desperately trying to make its way out of her.

Johnny’s had the decency not to show up through the funeral, but after she rests her cheek against the porcelain lid of her toilet, no intention of getting up for the next couple’a years at the very least, she hears the familiar sound of him materializing into thin air. When she blearily looks up, he’s standing over her, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“V, there’s, uh, somethin’ I gotta tell you,” he says, sounding- earnest?- as he shifts his weight on one foot from the next. “You might wanna get into a sitting position for this.”

“Johnny, not now,” she says, her voice coming out as gritty and worn-out as she feels. She forces herself to add a, “Please,” for good measure, and then cringes. She hates how she sounds. Like a fuckin’ soap opera, a television version of a person with a broken heart.

But Johnny doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“It’s _important_ ,” he stresses, crossing his arms over his chest as she struggles to lift herself off the floor and onto the toilet. “Believe me, I’m not trying to intrude. I’m not that much of an asshole. But you need to hear this.”

She can say a lot of things to that. Like, _I need to hear fuck-all from you,_ or maybe, _It’s funny that you say you’re not trying to intrude, when your entire fucking existence is based on you intruding on me,_ or even, _Please just leave me alone. Please._

But she doesn’t say anything. She can feel the tears finally starting to prick in her eyes, and it’s going to be horrible and mortifying and though she knows, logically, that Johnny’s with her all the time, she’d rather not cry in front of him like this.

He takes her silence as an indicator that he should continue, because he’s crouching down so that they’re at eye level, and he’s taking off his sunglasses, and his eyes are filled with a nameless pity that suddenly fills her with trepidation. She feels exactly like she did when the badges showed up at her and Obasaan’s front door to tell them that her father was killed by a stray bullet during a street fight when she was eight.

“Whatever you gotta say, just say it,” V tells him, words tripping over themselves in her haste to stop speaking past the lump growing in her throat.

But whatever she’s expecting, it’s certainly not the, “Your friend isn’t gone,” that comes tumbling from Johnny’s mouth. She stares at him like he’s speaking Sanskrit- wait, no, her translator would’ve probably done a better job of deciphering the shit that just came out of his mouth than her own ears. She stares at him like he’s fucking insane, because he is.

“Is this your way at try’na make me feel better?” She asks, after a long, uncomfortable pause. But he just shakes his head, that pitying expression still on his face. She’d punch it off him if she could.

“He really isn’t gone, V,” he murmurs. And then he says, “Because he’s inside your head.”

A beat.

And then, “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Johnny lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyebrows knit together- like _he’s_ the one dealing with an aching head, and a sore throat, and tears that are rapidly beginning to well up in tear ducts that haven’t really functioned as per usual since V got the Kiroshi implants.

And it’s only after her anxiety has reached paramount levels that he begins to speak.

“Jackie put the chip in his head before you,” he says. The name sounds uncomfortable, unfamiliar coming from his mouth, and though she hadn’t shed a tear during the funeral, she almost completely loses it at the sound of his name coming from Johnny’s mouth. “He was in pretty fuckin’ critical condition at the time, and the chip responded to it. Made a shadow of an engram of him to _preserve_ him. I don’t know how the fuck it managed to do that while I’m still inside the chip, but damnit, I can _feel_ him. Lyin’ dormant, but he’s here.”

“You mean to say… that a digital copy of my best friend… is inside my head?”

The look in Johnny’s eyes has become unbearable. With strength she didn’t know she still has, she lifts herself off the toilet to rinse her mouth out in the sink. Johnny stands behind her in the mirror, sunglasses still held in his hands like he doesn’t quite know what to do with ‘em. When she looks down at her own hands, planted on either side of the sink, they’re trembling.

“He didn’t die with the chip in him,” V says, her voice rougher than she’s ever heard it. “How the fuck did it manage to analyze and store his entire fuckin’ personality?”

“I don’t know how this shit works, V,” Johnny says tiredly. “All I know is that, from the moment I woke up in your skull, I could feel Jackie in here, too. In the chip. He’s not entirely aware, but it’s maybe a matter of days before he wakes up.”

“You mean the digital copy of him. Inside my head. Because the real one’s gone forever.”

“Yeah.”

She almost laughs at the sheer shittiness of it all. Jackie, who was more devout than he liked to let on, would’ve hated the idea that her head would be his afterlife. So is it better or impossibly worse that the sleeping thing inside her head that Johnny’s describing isn’t really him? Not in any sense that matters?

“I think I’m gonna be-“ is all she manages to get out, before she projectile vomits across her mirror. And only then does she begin to cry.

* * *

It’s an agonizing half-hour later when V finally finishes cleaning up the mess she’s made of her bathroom. Johnny tries to talk to her throughout it, but she steadily ignores him, and when she looks up he’s disappeared, which fills her with a sort of vindictive pleasure. She knows that it’s not his fault, not really, but she’s looking to hurt, and it’s a nice change of pace to not have herself be the focus of her own ire this time. 

But he doesn’t show for the rest of the day. And the next, when she finally manages to rouse from bed at two in the afternoon to make an obligatory check-up on Misty, who, aside from Mama Welles, is maybe the last person on Earth she wants to see right now. V wants to tell her everything, get all that shit off her chest, but even if she had the words for it, she doesn’t want to burden her with the knowledge that her boyfriend is trapped in his best friend’s skull for the few weeks that’ll make up the rest of her life.

Misty takes one look at her face and instructs her to sit down while she brews some tea.

“Your aura is in shreds, you know,” she tells V over her shoulder. “You wanna talk?”

V surreptitiously wipes at her eyes, which have been perpetually misty (for lack of a better word), with the sleeve of her jacket while Misty’s back is turned.

“That’s my line,” she says, smiling weakly. Misty doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue, and V heaves a sigh. “I’ve just… I’ve been all over the place, I guess. Feel like my brain’s too big for my head.”

Misty’s back is still turned, so she can’t see the expression on her face when she asks, “Are you taking the blockers?”

V hesitates. She doesn’t want to lie to her, but she isn’t willing to admit that she’s grown more and more accustomed- _desensitized_ \- to Johnny’s presence, enough so that she just doesn’t see the point. And now that she knows Jackie’s in there, somewhere, she’s definitely not willing to take the blockers.

“Yes,” she says, a little belatedly. “Yeah, they’ve, um, they’ve been a lifesaver. Thanks, Misty.”

“Sure.” Misty takes the small kettle off the warming plate and gently pours it into intricate teacups that V vaguely recognizes as a gift from Jackie from his and Misty’s first-year anniversary. The sight of it inexplicably makes her want to cry. Lots of things make her want to cry nowadays, as it turns out. Even the smell of the ginseng tea, which she remembers Obasaan, cantankerous old fuck that she was, drinking when she was a kid.

“Here ya go,” Misty says, handing her one of the cups before leaning against the counter. There’s a faraway look in her eyes- okay, Misty always has a faraway look in her eyes-, but she looks more spacey and lost than she does typically. V feels a surge of worry wash over her.

“You and Mama Welles talk?” She asks, sipping at her tea and trying- unsuccessfully, judging from Misty’s small, knowing smile- to mask her grimace at the taste.

“Yeah. She invited me for dinner, which was- nice. I didn’t expect it.”

“She has a tough exterior, but she really does care, y’know,” V tells her, before taking a deep breath. “I, um, I lived with her and Jackie for a little while. When I came back to NC- before I got the apartment, and… I mean, I just met Jackie maybe the week before. But he and Mama Welles went out of their way to invite me into their home once they found out I didn’t really have a place to stay. Not a whole lot of people would’a done the same.”

“He told me,” Misty murmurs, a strange note in her voice as she sips her tea. “He was special, my Jackie. The first guy I ever dated, you know. The only one I ever wanted to date. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

V’s stomach lurches. The smell of ginseng has become pervasive while Misty spoke, and all of a sudden she wishes, with a strange sort of ferocity, that she didn’t get out of bed today.

“I know the feeling,” she says, as lightly as she can manage, and then sets the cup down. “Look, Misty, I gotta run, but if you ever want to talk…”

“I’ll know who to call,” Misty finishes, smiling lopsidedly at her. But then the smile fades a little, and she brushes a stray lock of blonde hair from her eyes. “The same goes for you too, V. You don’t need to be alone throughout the healing process.”

“Believe me, Misty,” V says, sliding off the stool. “I’ve never felt less alone in my life.”

She’s jittery for the rest of the day, but there’s no sign of Jackie. Or Johnny, for that matter. It’s radio silent, and that makes her more on edge than if either of them made a show. She drives around on Jackie’s bike for a bit, makes her way out to the Badlands and debates whether it’s worth it to poke a fight with a few raiders at a nearby camp before they spot her and make her decision for her.

By the time she gets back home, it’s close to midnight and she’s splattered in blood and gore, none of it her own. Her mind has gone blissfully quiet during the fight and the ride back, and she feels more normal than she has in days. She’s eagerly stripping out of her jacket as she walks through the door, almost salivating at the thought of the hour-long shower she’s about to have, when that familiar digitized sound rings out, and all of a sudden Johnny’s there.

But he’s not alone.

Jackie’s tackled him onto the floor, yelling something incoherent as Johnny attempts to throw him off. Which is hard to do; even in digitized form, Jackie is awe-inspiringly broad, and he makes no hesitation in using it to his advantage. While Johnny bucks underneath him, attempting to dislodge him without much success, he settles on Johnny’s hips and crosses his arms, pointedly not bothering to secure the upper half of his body.

V doesn’t move. She tries to find her voice, but seeing Jackie has made her throat tighten up so bad, it’s hard to breathe.

Johnny spots her from over Jackie’s shoulder.

“V, tell this asshole to get the fuck off me!” He growls, making one last attempt to buck up before collapsing onto the floor in an panting heap. Jackie looks over his shoulder at her, eyes widening with surprise, and that’s when Johnny makes his move. In one fluid motion, he shoves Jackie off and starts whaling on him, fists flying as Jackie belatedly moves to block him.

The sight finally spurs V into motion.

“Stop it!” She yells, voice as hoarse as though she’s been yelling for hours. “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?”

“Me?” Johnny and Jackie ask at the same time, before glaring daggers at each other.

“Big guy here woke up, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Johnny drawls, sardonic as anything despite the tight, unyielding grip Jackie’s gotten in the collar of his shirt. “I was trying to explain what happened to him, and he just started attacking me out of nowhere. Great friends you got, V.”

Jackie scoffs disbelievingly.

“ _You_ were the one who approached _me_ ,” he snaps, “started talkin’ crazy about how I’m lines of code and that we’re trapped inside my best friend’s mind.”

“Because you _are.”_

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am-“

“Jesus fuck, you guys are like children,” V murmurs, sinking down onto her bed. Her hands have begun shaking again, and she quickly hides them underneath her thighs before she remembers, belatedly, that Johnny- and Jackie- can feel everything she’s feeling. Which is not spectacular, at the moment.

“Chica,” Jackie says, lifting himself off Johnny and inching closer to V. The sight of his well-loved, broad-jawed face makes her heart wrench like someone’s shoved a metal fist inside her chest and squeezed, tight to the point of bursting. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Before he tries to assault me again, preferably,” Johnny adds from his spot on the floor, scowling at Jackie’s turned back.

“Just- just sit down, both of you,” V mutters, unable to take her eyes off Jackie. Because it _is_ Jackie- black hair and premature laugh lines and large nose and all. Not even Johnny’s noise of affront can tear her eyes away from him. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Jackie says, and then smiles. 


	2. caught inside the wreck

“Well, shit,” Jackie says. He looks more somber than she’s ever seen him before, sitting on her bed and staring at his hands in his lap. Johnny’s taken a perch on her desk, has been mostly silent save for a few snarky comments about how well V takes two guys in all at once, etc., but he shut up entirely when Jackie gave him a look, obviously still remembering how he was thrown to the ground like a little girl’s unwanted rag doll.

“Am I even real?” Jackie asks, still staring at his hands as though he’ll find an answer to his question there. “Or just some throwaway lines of code, like this cabrón says I am?”

“’Course you’re real, Jack,” V says, because what the fuck else could she possibly say? _No, you’re a pale, soulless imitation of my dead best friend who thinks he’s a real boy?_ Fact of the matter is, neither of ‘em know whether Jackie- or Johnny, and whoever else is squatting in her head- is real. But she’s not going to look at her best friend- who she thought she lost, who she possibly-maybe just got back- and tell him that he’s an imposter. “C’mon. Let’s… let’s go get a burger.”

He perks up a little at that. Just a little.

“Capitan Caliente?”

“Habreno sauce, extra hot,” she tells him, just to get him to smile.

“I love that place,” Johnny says from her desk, sounding surprised at himself for indulging in an emotion that isn’t rockerboy rage or disaffected boredom. V claps her hands, the sound way too loud, and gets up from the bed.

“It’s decided, then,” she says, trying her damnest to sound cheery. “We’ll even take your bike, Jack.”

_Oh, like you haven’t been riding it around town for the past four days,_ says a little voice in the back of her head that, rarely enough, does not sound like Johnny. She shrugs it off and heads outside, nearly stepping on the hairless cat that’s sitting in front of her door.

“Shit!” She gasps, staggering backwards. The cat peers up at her with huge, wondering eyes. Jackie’s widen with recognition as he steps closer and leans down, his hand swiping right through the cat’s body when he attempts to pet it.

“V, I know who this is,” he says excitedly, glancing up at her. “It’s Mr. Brightman!”

“Mr. Who-man?” Johnny asks, sounding unimpressed as he materializes beside the cat. But even he can’t help but soften when the cat inches closer and starts rubbing against V’s leg, purring like an engine.

“Hey, little guy,” she murmurs, bending down to stroke along his neck before turning to Jackie. “How the hell do you know this cat?”

“Misty and Vik adopted him a while ago,” Jackie explains, still shaking his head in disbelief. “I have no idea how the hell he managed to get all the way up here, but you gotta take ‘im back, V. Misty must be worried sick.”

V’s hand falls from Mr. Brightman’s back.

“I can’t go to her like this!” She protests, though she gives in when Mr. Brightman mewls his discontent and resumes stroking his back. She used to bring in strays all the time when she was a kid, though Obasaan would typically force them out of the apartment within the hour- or kill them, though she never could confirm it. Mr. Brightman reminds her of one of them, a little Siamese kitten she found in a cardboard box on the street that refused to let her out of his sight. He was gone the next morning, and though Obasaan feigned ignorance, it was pretty obvious that she shooed him out the front door the second V fell asleep.

“You already have one voice in your head,” Johnny points out, leaning against the wall beside her apartment door. “What’s one more?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the one who’s in a committed relationship?”

“It’s okay, chica,” Jackie says, silencing them both. When she looks at him, his expression is introspective, reserved. “Mr. Brightman needs to go back home. Can’t say I won’t cry like a baby when I see her, but hey, how is that any different from usual, right?”

She can’t even smile, the one she knows he’s attempting to coax out of her. All she does is silently pick up Mr. Brightman, who purrs and snuggles closer to her chest, and keep him close as she descends down the elevator, trying not to lose it before she even gets to Misty’s shop.

Misty and Viktor are sitting at the counter when V arrives. There’re cards laid out in front of them- charts, too, each one more indecipherable than the next. Neither of them bother to explain; they both light up the second they see Mr. Brightman cradled in V’s arms.

“You found him!” Misty exclaims, more animated than V’s ever seen her. She nearly leaps over the counter in her haste to reach them, gently detangling Mr. Brightman from V before hugging him to her chest. “Vik, look!”

“I can see,” Vik says, but he’s smiling. Turning to V, he asks, “How in the world did you manage to find him, V? He’s been gone for ages.”

“Seems like the little guy followed me home,” V says, absently reaching out to stroke Mr. Brightman’s head. “Believe me, I was just as confused as you were.”

Neither Jackie nor Johnny have materialized yet, but she feels a strange combination of loneliness and longing when she looks at Misty, cradling the cat like a baby, that could belong to any of them. When Misty looks up at her, eyes teary with gratitude, she nearly chokes on the guilt that suddenly floods her system.

That one’s definitely hers.

“Thank you, V,” Misty says, and in one fluid motion hands Mr. Brightman over to Viktor so she can throw her arms around V’s neck. V hesitates before returning the hug, wrapping her arms around Misty’s middle. She’s worryingly skinny; V can feel her ribs even beneath the thick purple sweater. But before she can say anything, Misty is stepping back, and V looks away so she can pretend she doesn’t see Misty wiping tears from her eyes. “I really missed him.”

“Sure thing, Misty.” Then, attempting to clear the sudden tension in the room: “What were you guys doing, anyway?”

Viktor grins, his crow’s feet showing prominently as he gestures grandly towards the table with his free arm.

“Misty was doing my astrological charts,” He proclaims, and V can’t help but raise her eyebrows despite herself, whistling lowly. Misty’s been trying to get Vik to agree to her readings for years now; it feels nothing short of a miracle that she’s managed to convince him.

“Wow. And what do the charts have to say about good ol’ Viktor Vektor, huh, Misty?”

“We-ell,” Misty says, going back to her spot behind the counter. “Viktor’s a Capricorn, his rising sign is Taurus-“

“I have no idea what that means,” Viktor says in a stage whisper, leaning closer to V, and she grins at him.

“It means,” Misty says, a sly smile spreading across her face, “that you are a perfect astrological match for Mama Welles.”

V _cackles,_ doubling over with laughter as Viktor sputters incoherently and demands an explanation from Misty. She eventually calms down enough to explain that Mama Welles is a Scorpio, which prompts even more confused questions on Viktor’s behalf. V hops onto the counter beside the charts and coaxes Mr. Brightman onto her lap to watch them debate back and forth for a while, before her stomach begins to growl and she remembers this was supposed to be a pitstop only.

Still, she feels a vague sort of dread as she excuses herself- Viktor and Misty are too engrossed in the charts to pay her much notice-, gently shooing Mr. Brightman from her lap before getting off the counter. She doesn’t want to leave the esoterica, where the warmth and incense filling the room makes it hard to think clearly. Sounds counterintuitive, but that’s exactly what she wants- to not think for a while, doze off with the white noise of Misty and Viktor bickering over the latter’s potential love life with Mama Welles in her ears.

More than that, though, she doesn’t want to be alone with either Jackie or Johnny. She’s aware of the fact that it makes her sound like a fucking ingrate- her best friend, who she watched _die,_ has come back from the dead, and her response is to try and ignore him as best she can?-, but she was planning on spending the days following Jack’s funeral to self-destruction. She was going to die regardless, Johnny was going to be the sole inheritor of her body- and God knew that he would probably wreck it far worse than she ever could.

But now that Jackie’s back, she can’t very well hop on his bike and head out to the Badlands and fly head over handlebars after crashing into a particularly strong Joshua tree. She’s not the only one who’s going to have to deal with the scrapes and bruises and blood gushing out of her nose; Jackie is, too. Both of them are.

“You can’t read my thoughts, can you?” She blurts out without thinking as she steps out of the shop. A homeless man leaning against the alley wall gives her a weird look, and she curses herself silently before hurrying down the street. She thought she got out of that habit a while ago.

“Why, are you thinking bad thoughts?” Johnny asks sardonically, from where he’s materialized beside her. She gives him a Look, but it’s Jackie who answers on the other side of her, hands stuffed in his pockets as they walk. She can almost pretend it’s just an average day, and she and Jack are loping down the street with an air of self-importance that makes them look like total gangoons, or so Mama Welles would tell ‘em.

“Nah, not so far as I can tell,” Jackie reassures her, before a strange, lopsided smile forms on his face. “Your memories, though… that’s fair game. You never told me you and Kat were dating, chica.”

“Because that’s _private,_ Jack,” V retorts sharply, picking up the pace. It makes no difference; Jackie and Johnny are essentially a part of her, so it’s not like she can outpace either of them, but it serves to get her point across well enough. “You know that didn’t end well.”

“Yeah,” Jackie agrees easily, “but I thought it was just a hookup sort of sitch goin’ on with you and her. Not that you were talking about movin’ in together.”

“Wait, wait, who’s Kat?” Johnny asks, sounding bewildered, before his eyes widen. “Oh. _Oh_ , damn. Nice tits.”

“Stay _outta_ my memories, both of you,” V snaps, resisting the urge to tear her hair out from the roots. She takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “But aside from seeing my memories, you- you can’t, like, overhear my thoughts or feelings or anything?”

Jackie and Johnny exchange a look, and immediately she feels her stomach drop. She might’ve expected some bullshittery from Johnny, but Jack’s supposed to be on her side- always. No looks that she couldn’t decipher the meaning of with anybody else.

Until now.

“I don’t know about Big Guy here,” Johnny says, slowly, “but I can feel what you feel. Kind of hard not to; I mean, we share a nervous system.”

“I can feel it too,” Jackie mutters, sounding almost as uncomfortable by the prospect as V feels. Which apparently both of her unwelcome intruders feel in tandem. Great. “Don’t be upset, chica. I’m not gonna snoop in on you.”

“What a gentleman,” Johnny says, deadpan, before they start to bicker once more. When V was a kid, Obasaan used to have these massive headaches, migraines that could last for a week on end at times. She’d force V to shut all the blinds and replace drenched handcloths on her wrinkly forehead periodically, and though V resented it with as much ire as her underfed little body could contain, she couldn’t help but feel bad throughout it all. Those headaches incapacitated Obasaan, made her barely able to lift up her head to sip the tea that V would be ordered to brew for her- and almost inevitably be lambasted for the weak flavor and lukewarm temperature.

And though she never had one of those migraines before, she can feel a big one coming, a pressure behind her eyes that refuses to abate as Johnny and Jackie keep up a steady stream of insults between them.

“Please,” She breathes, squeezing her eyes shut. “Will you two just shut the fuck up for _two seconds?”_

When she opens her eyes, both of them are gone. She ignores the pang of guilt that follows their absence, in lieu of calling Jack’s bike and heading towards Captain Caliente as fast as she can, going through several red lights on the way there.

She slides into the first empty booth she sees- not that it’s particularly hard to find. Aside from one other patron, V is the only person insane enough to want a scopdog at nine in the morning. The teenage girl waitress that comes to her table looks bored as hell as she readies her notepad.

“Welcome to Captain Caliente,” She rattles off in a monotone voice. “How may I serve you today?”

“Burger,” V says immediately. “Extra habreno sauce. No pickles.”

“Anything else?”

The words _chocolate milkshake_ flashes in her head, but somehow she knows it’s not her thought.

“And a chocolate shake,” She adds anyway, figuring that it’s best to try brokering peace between the three of them now. As the waitress heads back behind the counter, that familiar digitalized sound echoes in her head, and Johnny and Jackie are sitting in the booth with her- Jackie beside her, Johnny facing them.

“Wasn’t sure that would work,” he comments, hoisting his leg onto the table as he lazily spreads. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” V says, her headache abating slightly as she looks over at Jackie. “Um… okay, we should probably talk about this.”

Jackie raises her eyebrows at her, and she gives him an equally incredulous look.

“The whole ‘two-people-squatting-in-my-head’ thing?” She prompts, before slumping back in her seat and rubbing a hand over her eyes, which feel gritty and dry. “Truth be told, I, uh, I’m not sure how the hell we’re supposed to fix this. Even when I thought it was just Johnny and me, I knew it was gonna be difficult. But this is way, _way_ more insane.”

“Well, what were you guys planning originally?” Jackie asks, balancing his cheek against his fist as he speaks. “I mean, you had a plan before I came around, right?”

This time, it’s V and Johnny’s turn to exchange a look.

“Our best bet is to find Evelyn,” V says decisively. “She’s gotta help us.”

“And if she doesn’t know how to?” Jackie asks quietly. V’s saved the trouble of answering him when the waitress comes back around, a plate of greasy burger and even greasier fries in one hand and a chocolate milkshake in the other. Her stomach grumbles loud enough to rouse the sleepy patron sitting in a nearby booth, looking around wildly before collapsing back down in his chair.

“Thanks,” she tells the waitress.

“My pleasure,” she says, voice somehow more monotone than before, and shuffles back behind the counter. Johnny watches her go with a shake of his head.

“I’ve seen dead bodies with more life in them,” He says, before turning back to V, watching her lift the burger to her mouth with an undeniably longing gleam in his eyes. “But I gotta admit, the food is worth the God-awful service. I remember coming here with Samurai after most of our gigs, y’know. ‘Course, we were so fucked up we probably wouldn’t have noticed if they’d substituted the meat for cardboard, but I would’a been happy either way.”

“That’s just how _Capitan Caliente_ affects e’rybody, my friend,” Jackie tells him, before all three of them shut their eyes in unison as V begins to chew the first bite. “ _Shi-it_. Didn’t know how much I needed that until now.”

She inhales the whole thing- shake and fries and burger- in maybe half a minute, before calling the waitress over for another shake- strawberry this time. At Johnny’s incredulous look, she shrugs her shoulders.

“What? I’m eating for three, aren’t I?” She cracks, and Jackie groans out loud.

“Really, V?”

“Besides,” she continues, ignoring both of their expressions as she leans back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Johnny’s only upset because I’m forcing him to drink somethin' that’s pink. Y'know, toxic masculinity really isn't a good look on you."

“You know that waitress is gonna think you got the munchies, right?” Johnny asks, ignoring her barb, and she just shrugs again.

“Not like I’d be any different from the rest of the clientele here. That guy’s definitely high as a kite.”

They look over to where the sleepy patron has begun murmuring something incoherent to himself. Towards the front, V can make out the waitress pointing him out to the line chef, a man whose biceps are even bigger than Jackie’s.

“This should be entertaining,” Johnny says, perking up at the prospect of violence. He's disappointed, though; the sleepy patron silences, and the line cook slowly retreats back into the kitchen, causing the waitress to violently roll her eyes before heading back over to V’s booth, holding a strawberry milkshake in her hand, condensation dripping down the sides of the glass. Despite the burger, fries, and chocolate shake currently planning a excruciatingly painful exit out of her body, she feels her stomach growl again. It’s been maybe two days since she had a proper meal.

“Didja want whipped cream with your shake?” asks the waitress.

_Hell yes,_ Jackie mouths at her, and she grins despite herself.

“Hell yeah,” she says.

They lapse into a more comfortable silence than before as she licks the whipped cream from the straw. That’d be her consistent order, every time she came here as a kid- strawberry milkshake, scopdog with habreno sauce. Dad would pretend to pull a face at her eating meat and cheese together, but he kept even less kosher than she did; he’d get a cheeseburger and a root beer float, and they’d make it a game to finish their respective drinks before the other one could. Winner got to choose where they’d spend the rest of the day, though both of them agreed that anywhere away from Obasaan would be good.

V's still thinking about him, wondering what he’d say if he could see her now- if he would’ve ever imagined she’d be in the sitch she’s in now-, when Jackie clears his throat.

“Are you gonna tell Misty or Mama about me?” He asks, face partially turned away from her, and she feels her good mood immediately deflate.

“D’you want me to?” She asks, just as quietly, and he shrugs unhelpfully.

“I don’t know,” He says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Mama would freak the fuck out, and Misty- _Dios mio,_ I don’t even want to know what Misty would say.”

“I’d let you have control,” V says, before the rest of her brain can catch up with her mouth. Both Johnny and Jackie turn to stare at her, their eyes huge as saucers. Her words hang in the air for a moment before they burst into speech at the same time, struggling to make themselves heard over the other.

“What do you mean, you’d let him-“

“You’d seriously let me have control over your-“

“I guess I… would?” She says, phrasing it more like a question because even she can’t quite believe she’d be willing to offer the one thing she was adamant that Johnny wouldn’t have from her. At the affronted expression on the man’s face, she says, “Number one, I can trust Jackie not to immediately go to the nearest bar and fuck up my liver if I give him control.”

“You can always get a new one,” Johnny says, sulking.

“Number two, I’m not sure if either of you saw how Misty was today, but she’s completely traumatized,” V continues, ignoring Johnny as she leans back in her seat. “She put on a happy face for Viktor, yeah, but I’m pretty sure neither of them were convinced. She needs this. Talkin’ to Mama Welles is your decision, Jack, but I’m not backin’ down on Misty.”

“I- thank you, V,” Jackie murmurs, looking at her with strangely bright eyes. Which raises the interesting question- can digital constructs inside your head cry? “I dunno what to say.”

“Me neither,” Johnny grouches, apparently intent on ruining the moment, and V heaves a sigh. Touching heart-to-heart over and done with, message read loud and clear.

“Let’s get goin’, then,” V says, easing herself from the table. “If we’re lucky, Misty’ll still have her charts out and you can ask her yourself about the chances of Viktor becoming your new stepdad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am absolutely overwhelmed by the response that this got!! i'm debating whether to put slow burn as a tag because it's definitely gonna be a while before there's any actual action between v and the various voices in her head, so tell me what y'all think in the comments


	3. an idea from another man's mind

“V,” Misty says, her face splitting into a huge smile as she looks up from her cards. “Want me to do your charts this time? Or say hello to Mr. Brightman? He’s with Vik right now, but I’m sure he won’t mind if we kidnap him for a bit.”

Jackie stares from his spot in the entryway. He can’t help himself; he’s always had to take a moment to just admire, to _marvel_ , where Misty was involved. V would call him a sap for saying so, but she’s also a hopeless romantic. She just hides it better’n Jackie does.

Jackie, though- Jackie’s never felt the urge to hide his feelings under a veneer of caustic apathy or disaffected cool. They were rare enough that when they did happen, it was with a bang- time stopped and the world seemed to fade away. And nothing, _nothing,_ had mattered more in his life than a girl with the shaggiest haircut he’d ever laid eyes on.

 _Jesucristo_. He never thought he’d see that hair again.

“V?” Misty prompts, brows furrowing with concern, and Jackie blinks. Switching control was incredibly hard, even with the help of the endotrizine. V’s body didn’t know which engram to give control to, and he had to physically wrest control from Silverhand when it finally hit. Even now, he can hear the old guy’s grumbling in the back of his head, whereas V has gone completely silent. Which would’ve been worrying, had she not reassured him beforehand that the endotrizine was supposed to hand control over to her engram- either one- until he took the pill to give her back the reins. 

Jackie never thought he’d look forward to losing control of his body- of a body that he was inhabiting, anyway-, but seeing Misty is so nerve-wracking that he wishes, half-hysterically, that the pill would wear off right this second.

“It’s not V,” He hears himself saying, jolting when he realizes that the feminine voice coming out of his throat is V’s. Which is absurd- of _course_ it’s V’s, it’s her body-, but it’s somehow more jarring than realizing that he’s now the proud (partial) owner of two boobs and no dick. It feels way more different than being a mere voice in a head, nevermind the fact that they’ve gone through the exact same experiences.

Misty’s expression immediately clouds.

“Johnny?” She asks quietly, warily, and Jackie has to laugh so that he doesn’t sob.

“Close, but, uh, not quite,” he says, and then, taking a deep breath, steps closer to the counter. “Hey, chica.”

Misty’s eyes widen. God, she’s always been beautiful, but she’s never seemed more beautiful than in this moment, dark circles under her eyes and hair falling into her face.

“That’s not funny, V,” she whispers, hands tightening their grip on her deck. “Seriously, seriously not funny.”

Jackie watches her, feeling an unbearable mixture of happiness and sorrow as he reaches over to touch her hand. And then, very deliberately, he rubs the soft skin in the space just below the knuckles of her index and middle fingers. Misty blanches but doesn’t move away, staring at Jackie like she’s just seen a ghost. Which she is, technically speaking.

“Ja-“ She breaks off, eyes filling with tears, and it’s only after she takes a rattling breath that she’s able to speak. “Jackie?”

“Hey,” Jackie whispers, his own eyes welling up. “What’s up?”

* * *

Even after the third time explaining, Jackie still doesn’t think she understands. She pulled up two stools for them to sit on, and brewed at least three cups of tea in the past forty-five minutes. She says that it’s supposed to calm them down, but Jackie’s never seen her so jittery, hands trembling and left leg bouncing rapidly up and down as she stares at him.

“My God, Jack,” she finally whispers, after an uncomfortable period of silence. “I- I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Your face is written all over V’s, I swear.”

“Wouldn’t have expected y’to,” Jackie tells her, trying to suppress a wince at the taste of the chamomile in the tea- and failing, if the slight quirking of Misty’s lips is any indication. “It’d be kinda freaky if that was your first reaction when you saw me.”

Misty laughs, though the sound sounds wetter than usual.

“Guess so,” she concedes, still staring at him with that faraway look in her eyes, before she abruptly shakes her head. “So- how does this all work, exactly? I get that you only just woke up in V’s head, but… I mean, what about Johnny? He’s still in there, right?”

Actually, Silverhand’s been pretty decent about not showing up while Jackie explained everything to Misty, but he materializes now, a slightly baleful expression on his face as he perches on top of Misty’s counter.

“Right there, actually,” Jackie says dryly, pointing to the spot over Misty’s shoulder where Silverhand’s sitting, to which Silverhand responds by flipping him the bird. Misty swivels in her seat, but of course she doesn’t see anything. It’s all in Jackie- in V’s- head.

“And V?” Misty asks, voice far more tentative than before, as though she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. “Is… is she still in there, too?”

“Yes,” Jackie says automatically, before mulling the question over. It’s not a lie; she _is_ still there- he can feel a presence that isn’t his or Silverhand's in the back of his mind-, but it’s muted, almost sleepy. He’s pretty sure she won’t be able to remember any of this conversation, once he gives her back control. And he _is_ going to give her back control, as soon as he’s done. He’s not like Silverhand; he has no plans to grand theft auto a body that isn’t his and go on a fucking bender.

Besides, being in V’s body is disorienting enough as it is; the fact that Misty’s the exact same height as him now makes his throat close up.

“I can feel her,” Jackie continues, after a beat, “but I can’t see her. Not like I can Silverhand.”

“Silverhand,” Misty repeats, with a wry smile. “You two don’t get along, huh, Jack?”

“Oh, sure we get along,” comes Silverhand’s quick, dry response. “Like a fuckin’ house on fire.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie says- out loud, judging by the confused look that flits across Misty’s face. V’s way better at internalizing her dialogue than he is; Jackie, meanwhile, feels no less different than that self-proclaimed prophet she always goes to outside Misty’s shop, talkin’ out loud and shit.

“I’m guessing that was directed at him,” Misty notes, the smile returning. God, it’s good to see her smile again- real good, like driving his bike on an empty freeway, or drinking room-temperature water at three AM. Something he hasn’t known he’s been craving until he was reminded of its absence.

“He’s a prick,” Jackie agrees, not looking away from Misty’s lips even as Silverhand flips him off once more in his peripheral vision. “But to be honest, I could give less of a shit about him right now. Actually, all I could think about from the moment I walked into the shop is how much I wanna kiss you.”

Misty’s eyes lower down to the teacup clutched in her hands.

“What about V?” She asks, voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “Would she even be- be _okay_ with-“

“I’ve seen her memories, chica,” Jackie reminds her, the word sounding so strange coming from V’s voice. “She’s stared at your ass enough times that I’m pretty sure she’d be over the moon if she knew her lips were touchin’ yours.”

“Jackie!” Misty says, all reprimanding, but her eyes are sparkling with a genuine mirth he thought he’d never see again. “Did she really?”

“What can I say?” Jackie murmurs, leaning close enough that he can smell the chamomile on Misty’s breath. “It’s hypnotizing to e’ryone you meet, Misty, not just me.”

And then, before she can say anything else, he kisses her.

He was wrong; _this_ feels like driving his bike on the freeway, neon lights flashing by and the wind and rain stinging his face so heavily, he can barely see past his visor. Misty’s hand automatically comes up to his nape, scratching there slightly the way she knows he loves, and he practically purrs as he leans closer, having to steady himself on the corner of her chair so that he doesn’t topple them both over.

This body may be unfamiliar, but kissing Misty sure as hell isn’t. She tastes like tea and Black Dahlia lipstick, and beyond that, something dark and fruity, like pomegranate seeds. Her tongue darts past his parted lips, playful and sly, and just as her grip on the back of his neck tightens-

The back door opens. They both jump apart just in time to see Viktor staring at them from the doorway, eyes huge and round in his face as he stares at the strand of saliva between their lips. Mr. Brightman is cradled in his arms, staring at the two of them with a vaguely accusatory expression.

“Um…” Viktor begins, almost painfully awkward as he glances away. “Just wanted to get the extra kibble from the counter. Sorry for, uh, interrupting you girls.”

“No, Vik-“ Misty begins, just as Jackie says, “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You don’t gotta explain anything to me,” Vik says quickly, almost pleadingly, as though he’s begging for them to stop talking. “Seriously. I’m just gonna grab the kibble and- and be on my way now-“

“It’s not V,” Jackie blurts out. “ _I’m_ not V, Vik.”

Viktor stares at him, obviously baffled. Mr. Brightman makes a noise of discontent from where he’s curled up in Vik’s arms.

“Who-“

“Jackie,” Misty blurts out. For all her Polish genes, she doesn’t flush easily, but her cheeks are red as tomatoes now. “It’s Jackie. He’s- he's an engram, Vik. Another one."

Viktor's bafflement turns into something that's not quite horror and not quite shock. Jackie's worried, for a moment, that he's going to see Vik have a heart attack right there and then, before Mr. Brightman lets out another mewl of pure indignation, attempting to wriggle his way out of Vik's arms and towards the kibble underneath Misty's counter. The sound seems to return Viktor back to his body, just a little bit.

"I'm going to feed Mr. Brightman before he can run off again," He says slowly, never taking his eyes off Jackie. "And then the two of you are going to explain what the hell is going on. Okay?"

"Oh, joy of joys," Silverhand mutters, and Jackie nearly jumps out of his skin. He forgot he was there in the first place, but he's still where Jackie last saw him on Misty's counter, watching with lazy, hooded eyes as Viktor approaches and kneels between the open V of his almost obscenely parted legs, digging through Misty's knick-knacks to grab the half-empty bag. "Can't wait for another thirty minutes of the same shit over and over again."

"You don't like it, you can get the hell outta here," Jackie mutters, though not low enough for Viktor not to shoot him a worried glance over his shoulder. 

"You don't have to talk out loud, you know," Silverhand says, an infuriatingly smug expression on his face, and Jackie resists the urge to shove him off the counter, knowing his- V's- hand would just go straight through his shoulder. The second he's back in his not-body as an engram, though...

The murderous expression on his face only makes Silverhand's lips quirk. 

"That might look scary on your face," He informs Jackie, with a not-so-quiet air of superiority that isn't doing much to help the anger blistering through Jackie's veins, "but on V's, it makes you look like an angry kitten."

"I'm telling V you said that," Jackie says- internally, this time-, and is rewarded with a look of fear that flashes across Silverhand's face, he can almost imagine it was never there to begin with. Almost.

"I'm telling her you told Misty she looked at her ass," Silverhand retorts. Jackie's heart skips a beat, and the bastard knows it- his eyes light up with knowing amusement. Jackie doesn't know how V's managed to come this far with the knowledge that there are two separate entities in her head feeling every time she so much as twitches; he can barely handle Silverhand's presence as it is.

"You wouldn't dare."

Silverhand snorts. "You clearly don't know me if you think that's true."

Jackie opens his mouth to say something scathing, and that's when Viktor turns around, Mr. Brightman balanced in one arm and the kibble in the other. Jackie tries to smooth out his expression, but it's not working, judging by the concerned look on Vik's face. They head back to Viktor's clinic in a single-file line, like schoolchildren, and it's only after Vik has poured out kibble into a steel bowl for Mr. Brightman and given his flank a few pats that he finally turns around to face Jackie and Misty. His mouth is set into a grim line as his gaze settles on Jackie.

"What did you ask me when we first met, Jackie?" He asks, voice more subdued than usual. Jackie blinks.

"Um..." He scratches the back of his head, jumping when he remembers there's far more hair piled on his scalp than usual. "I asked if you'd teach me that move you used to break Maddox Way's shoulder in the Watson Grand Prix."

Viktor nods slowly, carefully. And then he slumps abruptly against his chair, chest heaving as he stares at Jackie, eyes flitting across his face- _V's_ , why is that so hard to remember?- like he's trying to commit it to memory. Misty rushes to his side, hands fluttering anxiously over his shoulders, but he just waves her off, never taking his eyes away from Jackie. 

"Jesus Christ, Jackie," He says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his middle and index fingers. And then he says it again, slowly, as if savoring the words. "Jesus. Christ. Does your mom know?"

"She'd have a heart attack," Jackie says solemnly, knowing that it's true. If V's to be believed, and Mama Welles is inconsolable to the point of being unable to sleep at night, as Pepe's told her, then telling her that at least a portion of her only son's soul has been trapped inside his best friend's skull- alongside yet _another_ wayward soul, in the form of a long-dead rockerboy/terrorist-, would trigger the aneurysm that's been waiting for her the moment she brought Jackie back from the hospital. "There's no way I'm tellin' her. And you can't tell her either, Vik. You gotta promise me."

"I'm supposed to be seeing her on Wednesday," Viktor mumbles, almost to himself, as he lifts his hand from the bridge of his nose to rub his eyes. "I have no idea how the hell I'm going to avoid the topic."

Jackie's eyes narrow.

"Why are you seeing her on Wednesday?" He asks slowly. Viktor's eyes lift back to his, but Misty cuts him off before he can explain what Jackie's already suspecting, and silently praying is not true.

"We have bigger problems, Jack," She intones, voice low, and Jackie can't help but huff out an incredulous laugh.

"We do?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, but Vik nods in slow agreement, expression grim.

"If having one engram in V's body was going to send her to an even earlier grave," He says quietly, "then I don't want to imagine what _two_ engrams will do to her mind, her consciousness. Whatever it is, it won't be good, I can promise you that. The stress alone-"

He stops himself when he sees the look on Jackie's face, which must be as queasy as he feels. His stomach's dropped, and he's so fixated on the taut lines of Vik's face that he barely registers the sound of Silverhand materializing beside him. When Jackie finally manages to tear his gaze away from Vik, Silverhand's sunglasses are clutched in his hand. It's the first time Jackie's ever seen him without them; his eyes are dark and hard as flint as he meets his gaze.

"You're not looking at her right now, are you?" Vik asks quietly, and Jackie shakes his head without looking away from Silverhand.

"No. She's asleep right now." Which probably isn't the scientific term for it in the slightest, but he can't really be assed to care either way. 

"Whatever the three of you decide on doing," Viktor says, "it is vitally important that you do _not_ cause more stress than necessary. I understand that there's not a lot of- of head space, for lack of a better term, but-"

"D'ya, Vik?" Jackie asks quietly, feeling something more frightened than rage and more bitter than fear rise up in his chest. "Do you know what it's like to not have your own body anymore? To be a voice in someone else's head- and not even be the only voice there? To not even know if you're real, or just some bad copy of the original?"

"You are real, Jack," Misty says desperately, just as Vik says, voice taking on a pleading note that Jackie's never heard before, "Jackie, I am deeply, incredibly sorry that this has happened to you. But while I'd like to say I can't think of a worse fate, I _can_. Because it's _happening_. I don't know how much V explained to you, but if you guys don't find a solution, and soon, her consciousness is going to be entirely wiped and replaced by Johnny's- or yours. Or both. We didn't even know what it meant when it was only Silverhand taking up residency in her skull, but now that you're there, too-"

"Vik, you're scaring him," Misty tells him, though her voice is suddenly far away. Everything feels far away, like the world is receding around him, and all he can do is watch it happen-

And then he feels a warm hand on his back, pressing between his shoulder blades with enough pressure that he can feel the individual callouses on the fingertips. Callouses that remind him of his own.

"Breathe," Silverhand instructs, tone uncharacteristically subdued. His aviators are still clutched in his right hand, and though Jackie used to think of him as far, far older than either him or V, he looks maybe ten years younger without them- still old, but more approachable, more vulnerable. Well, it's either the lack of aviators, or the familiar fear he sees flashing in his eyes, but he doesn't know what he'd do in a world where Silverhand can feel something as human as fear, so he decides on the former. "Don't freak out. It's going to be all right."

One thing about Silverhand that can't be denied: he's charismatic as hell. For a second, Jackie almost believes him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genuinely considering starting another playthrough if only to remind myself of jackie's speech pattern and simultaneously feeling repulsed at starting another playthrough with a v that isn't my streetpunk girl lmao

**Author's Note:**

> this idea popped up in my head the second i saw jackie's death scene and genuinely would not let go. could've just been a side effect from my inability to let go of jackie after the half hour max we had him (which I am still v upset about), but still.


End file.
